What does it take for a man to cry?

The death of his child? Yes.

The infidelity of his lover? Yes.

Betrayal?

The Fatui campsite was losing its members quickly. Half of them left for other missions across the nation. A quarter of them went with Harbinger Childe to prepare to battle for Rex Lapis' Gnosis. The other poor, leftover recruits, sergeants, and lieutenants were outside, scrambling to save anyone or any valuable items still trapped inside a burning tent.

Red, orange, and yellow gleamed in Scaramouche's eyes as he stared emotionlessly at the growing fire he caused. Heat from the blazing inferno caused beads of sweat to form and slide down the young man's face, he didn't seem to care about his appearance. Not even the searing hot pain shooting from his hands up his arms made him wince the slightest, those injuries would be quite difficult to heal. He didn't care.

Smoke filled everyone's nose, even choked and blinded some with their tears. This agonizing warmth invading the air was enough to make the soldiers shiver in fear, it was just intolerable to stand back and watch countless Fatui properties getting destroyed. They knew that someone needed to speak up, but who was willing to die for going against a Harbinger?

Once again, Scaramouche was told the bad news of another failed mission. He couldn't help but snap into a million pieces when he heard that Fatui Agent Kliment was rushed into the infirmary ward, a tent filled with Hydrogunner Legionnaires. Major blood loss. Multiple stab wounds deep enough to fit a claymore.

The Harbinger couldn't believe it. He really thought that that plan would work. He put all his faith in Kliment's success. Scaramouche was so confident of your return that he prepared you a gift, brand new spray guns. He figured your weapons were filthy with blood, he could tell because he was told how brutally you killed that Cicin Mage. He knows how upset you get when your guns are dirty for a long period of time.

Without your proper cleaning materials, it was bound to have some stains remaining. Scaramouche would have presented the new spray guns as an apology, a way into your heart. He wanted you to discard that weapon you pointed at him and have it replaced, like those events never happened.

But, you didn't come back. Can you imagine the embarrassment, shame, and resentment Scaramouche must have felt? A wrapped box with your name on it was left alone, unopened in his tent, hidden under a table - burning away. It was a slap in the face. Kick to the gut. Knife in the back.

How did this fire happen? Scaramouche had trouble remembering. He looked at his partially charred hands and thought deeply about the prior events. All he could recall was pacing around his tent, impatiently waiting for Fatui Agent Kliment's arrival.

When he did return back to camp, Kliment was on his last breath, on the verge of death. Turns out, he didn't stop to tend to his injuries even once. He escaped from Liyue Harbour and made the dreaded journey all the way back here, with no breaks. It was already late into the night. He took until nightfall. Another twelve hours added onto the other thirty-six. The bounty was now four million Mora.

When the group of remaining members started to grow louder with overlapping conversations, Scaramouche decided to step outside his tent and summon everyone. They heard the Harbinger's roll-call and marched over right away, lining up and saluting respectfully.

"Soldiers, any news?"

One of the recruits was forced to answer after being pushed around, "No sir... Kliment was not successful, we got nothing."

"Nothing." Scaramouche said longingly, tipping the edge of his hat as he glanced upwards at the black night sky. "Nothing. It's always nothing. Nothing is not enough work being done. Nothing means incompetence."

The unlucky messenger was shrinking into his fur jacket, fearful that he was going to get some sort of beat down from Scaramouche since it seemed to be a trend lately. Everyone can see the Harbinger building up in anger, suppressing the urge to lash out.

"Nothing means you're all idiots!" Scaramouche shouted, breathing heavily with fire in his eyes. "Were there any new sightings after her altercation with Kliment?! Somebody tell me something!"

"No sir..." The messenger muttered but then spoke up again. "However, we believe she's hiding somewhere in the Harbour, disguised to look like the locals."

"That means she's hidden in plain sight!" Scaramouche exploded and slammed his fist against the tent's wooden post. "Idiots! Losers! It shouldn't be that hard to locate her, you failures!"

The Harbinger let out another short yell when he threw another punch, chipping the wood and almost leaving with bloody knuckles. Men and women stood back silently, not even thinking about stepping in to stop further destruction. There were growing concerns that this outburst was going to end differently than the others.

"Are you sure you searched everywhere? Sweep through the Harbour again! That's an order!"

A shaky sigh left the recruit breathless as he tried to explain, "We... had to cease our advancements because a handful of soldiers went to accompany Master Childe to the Northland Bank. Plus, we are heavily short on soldiers. The Millelith have upped their security and are not accepting any newcomer Fatui members apart from those who already work in the city."

"That doesn't answer my question." Scaramouche goaded, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck out of disappointment. "Why have you stopped searching? I never told anyone to stop! Why are people disobeying direct orders?! I'm willing to give out punishments, I swear by it!"

"We are... trying our best... Whenever we see secretary [Y/N], she's always with other people. During Kliment's attempt to extract her, Liyue's exorcist, Chongyun, aided in her escape. We saw both of them together in the city. In addition, we know how she killed the Cicin Mage and badly wounded Kliment. Kidnapping is very risky-"

"You've seen her?"

The messenger fell silent, eyes widening from the realization of his slip-up. His words seemed to have gotten stuck in his throat, he looked like he was choking on air. From the pale, ghostly look on the recruit's face to the rest of the group's reaction was enough evidence that they were caught lying.

"I was just told there were no new sightings of her. Am I being lied to?" An astounded yet deeply offended tone dripped from Scaramouche's voice. He snapped angrily, "Answer my question! Are my own soldiers retaining information from me?!"

Uncomfortable stares were passed along the group as they wondered who was going to speak next. People were pushing others, some had tears building up behind their masks. The silence was too loud, it was deafening.

"Withholding information from me would be the worst mistake you have ever made! I've been nothing but patient and tolerant, waiting for even the littlest of hints of [Y/N]'s whereabouts... While I'm rotting in my tent, people are not telling me anything!"

A sick, terrifying laugh tumbled out of Scaramouche's lips as he spun around on his heels to start pacing in front of the soldiers. He continued to cackle loudly and every now and then clutched his stomach from how hard his laughter got to him.

After a few seconds of walking around, the Harbinger stopped abruptly at his original spot and fully turned to the soldiers, looking at each member. He chuckled one last time, "I get it. I'm the Fool. I'm sure that everyone is laughing at me. Everyone thinks this is funny. Like a comedy skit. I'm the idiot chasing an impossible dream."

There was no response, it was like Scaramouche was talking to a bunch of lifeless mannequins. It made him think to himself if [Y/N] was here, she would have started to reassure me, comfort me. That's what she would do. That's what makes her different. That's why I chose her.

"Is the reward not satisfactory?" He muttered bitterly. "Is four million Mora not enough?"

Scaramouche felt his throat strain as he gulped anxiously. He was hit with that familiar sting in his gut, another angry outburst was building up. It was on its way. Trying to break free from its restraints. He felt pressure against his temples and the way his eyebrows started to furrow deeply.

"How about five million Mora?" Scaramouche offered out of the blue.

From the looks of it, he was getting more desperate by the second. The longer the silence went on, the further he fell into sorrow. In the darkness, Scaramouche could only partially see the faces of his soldiers. The lanterns surrounding the campsite seemed to be dimming drastically. He was losing hope, everyone can see it in the way he tensed up.

"Six million?"

The soldiers remained quiet when Scaramouche was almost begging for any response.

"Seven...?"

His shoulders fell as he shook his head, refusing to accept the fact that the group before him was completely abandoning the bounty mission. Not even Mora was enough to sway them, they were all tired. They all wished that they went with Childe's army, they wished they were out on the field being useful. The Gnosis mission was a top priority before you ran away.

"Fine!" Scaramouche panicked, shouting loudly and letting his voice tremble with desperation. "Ten million! That's all I have! Ten million Mora to whoever brings [Y/N] back alive! I just need to see her again! I need her to come back to me! I feel like a part of me is dying! I don't think I can stand it anymore!"

All he could see was a blurred group of people. Scaramouche, for the first time, felt like he lost everything. He's never felt this burning in his chest, this heaviness on his shoulders, this weakness in his knees. No one wanted to help. No one was willing to stay behind. Not even Childe. Yet, that guy is closer to you than Scaramouche will ever be.

"My Lord, why don't you search for her instead." An Agent asked boldly.

Scaramouche turned his back to the soldiers, facing directly to his tent. He brought his hand up to his mouth and bit harshly on the joint of his finger, refusing to lose control over himself. But it was too difficult. This has been going on for too long. Your absence is destroying his mind.

"I can't... Because if I do," As much as he tried to explain, he succumbed to his wrath. "The moment I get my hands on [Y/N], I might just kill her! I'll beat her to death! I'll strangle her! I'll stop her heart! That's what I'll do, I know it! And I don't want that to happen!"

Rage surged through the Harbinger as he reached up and tore the curtains clean off the tent, electrifying the cloth. The hooks popped into the air, the sound of fabric ripping was enough to shake up anybody. Do you know the materials used for making those curtains? They are meant to withstand any sort of ecosystemic calamity.

The young man was tearing it apart like it was nothing, the veins running along his arms appeared only subtlety. There was already a large split running through the thing and it would be quite the hassle to try and sew it back together. But still, ripping things apart wasn't enough to soothe Scaramouche's anger.

He remembered all the things he did for you. The endless support, unconditional love, and genuine praises. He really did think there was something there. It was only buried under denial, by both of you. Refusal to admit true feelings. All this time, he thought there was a way to finally pull you up to his level, make the two of you be on the same page.

During past missions, where there was danger in every turn, you always looked after each other's backs. If things got violent, you two would fight side by side. Super-conducted ice bullets would shoot through the air, enemies had no chance of dodging. Escape was futile. The look on your face after every victory made his heart jump with bliss.

Even though he complained all the time, he really enjoyed walking all over the nation with you. The silence almost trapped the two of you in your own bubble, just coexisting in quietness peacefully. Every little comment about the weather or any stupid thing was just an attempt to get you to talk a little. Hearing your voice was always a privilege. He liked to listen to you speak. But he would never tell you that.

Picking you out of that group of Cryogunners was the best decision in his life. He confessed many times I don't regret... That phrase was laced with his secret love, you weren't supposed to know the true meaning behind those words. But he didn't know they could be weaponized, turned into some sort of shock collar.

The early days of your promotion were heaven. Everything was new, awkward, and innocent. He remembers your very first official training session with him, your first quest outside Snezhnaya, even the time when you first saw him without his hat. He loved every second of it. Every little detail. Every reaction.

He never would have thought of you betraying him. Like nothing ever happened. Like you never cared about him, or your job, or the Fatui. It killed him. Destroyed his heart. Made him cry.

It made him hope that he was only having a nightmare, a silly bad dream. He wasn't really on that mountain. He was still sleeping on the futon. Still buzzing from that exhilarating kissing session last night. You were going to be there when he woke up.

All of a sudden, he noticed the cloth clutched in his hands was burning off his skin. Like it was alive, it was convulsing from the rushing Electro current, even the material was starting to melt. To Scaramouche's confusion, the purple sparks turned a frightening red. Horrified, he hurled the ablaze curtain right back into the tent and from there, a fire was born.

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